Bells

Bells to wake the dead
or the merely sleeping
Walk the gravel road
boots are chafing
Under a purple sky
blue undertones
gray clouds all around
wind softly blowing
a warm breeze from the sea
smelling of fish and rotting  wood.
Time is short.
Even when it seems so long.
So long.
Memory
fields so green
Wildflowers cast a shadow
of yellow, black, and orange
paint these things for me
Hermit in a wooden box
hunting spiritually
for all the things unseen
alone
is all he knows how to be.